


The Long and Winding Road

by Tabithian



Series: Soft as the Starlight in the Sky [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magical Girls, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 07:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4556541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabithian/pseuds/Tabithian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There should really be some kind of guide book to this, or. Jason doesn't know, okay, he's never come back from the dead before. </p><p> </p><p>(AKA, Jason comes home.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place before and during events in [Every Night the Same Encore ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4394246) and [A Rising Moon for Every Falling Star](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4397051)
> 
> ALSO.
> 
>  
> 
> Fantastic fan art of Magical Girl Jason [here](http://tabithian.tumblr.com/post/126937327634/fic-the-long-and-winding-road), by themandylion! <33333333!

_Being dead is. Well, Jason hadn't expected this, to be sure._

_Weird kind of glow, foggy. Lots of pink. Some sparkles._

Ugh, you humans, _a voice says._

_”The hell?”_

So many regrets, _it says, and Jason's eyes go wide because he can feel something, someone, poking through his memories._

_(Drags up one of that fucking stalker kid, hair in his face due to the wind, big blue eyes and a startled look on his face, not expecting Jason to catch him.)_

_“The fuck are you - “_

I'll make you a deal, an offer, _the voice says._

_Jason._

”What kind of deal?”

 _More images, moments plucked from Jason's mind, of him, his life before he fucked up and Bruce found him. Fucking_ Bruce _. Alfred, that asshole Dick. (The little stalker shit again, shy little smile and a quiet,_ I'm Tim, _and -_

A chance to address your regrets, _the voice says._ You do have so many of them after all.

Jason.

_”What's the catch?”_

_There's always a catch, always a price._

You will have to face the servants of darkness, _the voice says, and Jason sees –_ in his goddamn head _– faceless figures wielding magic and wreaking havoc, grotesque monsters doing their bidding, and people screaming, and running away, and Jason -_

_Jason fucking laughs, and laughs and laughs, because._

_”What the hell, sign me up then,” he says, like it's going to be any different from a normal day in his life._


	2. The Long and Winding Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not too long ago, Jason made a series of – possibly, maybe – ill-advised decisions that ended pretty badly. (Really, really badly.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D?

Not too long ago, Jason made a series of – possibly, maybe – ill-advised decisions that ended pretty badly. (Really, really badly.)

Then, like the genius he is, Jason made another series of – absolutely, without a doubt – ill-advised  
decisions and now here he is.

Some weird in-between place that's sure as hell not being alive, but. He's not quite dead, either. 

And Jesus, what is up with the damn sparkles?

The voice is poking around in his head again, making little thinking noises and suddenly Jason sees his mental map of Gotham spread out in his head.

There are little spots marked around the city, little points of light in different colors, and Jason.

Glances to the side where his mind tells him the voice is coming from when he senses a general feeling of disgust.

_And you want to return to this place voluntarily?_

Because it's Gotham, and for every bright marker of light on that map, there's. 

Darkness, a blank void that feels like it could swallow him up.

He doesn't have an all-over burning love for Gotham, not really, but.

Jason looks back at the map. Reaches out, smiles when his fingers brush one the markers, flash of memory lighting up in his head, that damn stalker kid's ( _Tim's_ ) smile, shy, sweet. 

Looks around at the other marked points, knows there are ones for everyone in his weird little family.

“Yeah,” Jason says, solid certainty. “I do.”

********

There should really be some kind of guide book to this, or. Jason doesn't know, okay, he's never come back from the dead before. 

Because one moment he's in the pink, sparkly place, and now he's not, and it's a little disorienting.

_Humans._

Jason looks down at the - 

God, it's a fucking _cat_ , what the hell. 

“Oh, I'm ever so sorry. Am I not. Am I not taking this with the grace and decorum I should be?”

The cat, this little snooty thing with its snooty little voice in Jason's head looks up at him and says, _No._

********

Best guess, they're about a hundred miles outside Gotham.

Jason has nothing but the clothes on his back and a snooty little cat trotting beside him.

“Unbelievable,” Jason says, looks down at the cat. “You can bring me back to life, but you can't find Gotham.”

The cat looks up at Jason. 

_You need the exercise._

“I'm sorry, what?”

A disdainful sniff, the cat making a show of looking him over. _How much time do you think has passed?_

Jason.

He's tried not to think about it really, but.

The fact that the body he came back to life in is older than the one he died in – and oh, wow, that's a fucked up thing to think - 

“I try not to think about it,” Jason says, but they both know it's a lie.

He can't think of anything else.

Not when the two of them are making their way back to Gotham, endless stretch of road and not a lot of scenery worth stopping to take a look at. 

Jason coming to grips with the part where he _died_ , was dead for a while, and – like an idiot - agreed to fight the powers of evil in exchange for not being dead because it didn't sound all that different from what he'd been doing before. 

Emotional roller coaster fight fucking there, because Jason.

He hadn't just died, no, had to go get his stupid self _murdered_ and that's.

It was hardly fun-times for him, but, it's not like he had to deal with the fallout from that, did he.

Got to float around somewhere before the stupid cat came along and decided Jason didn't seem smart enough to say no to its offer, and now.

“Goddammit,” Jason mutters. 

_There are other cities,_ the cat says, offers, neutral. _We don't need to start here._

Because 

And.

“No,” Jason says, little pang in his chest.

He needs to know first, see.

Because he died, left people behind. 

There's a weighted kind of silence, and when he looks down at the cat, it's looking back.

_Humans._

Jason laughs, shrugs.

Pretty much, yeah.

********

“Okay, look,” Jason says. “Do you have a name? Something I can call you? Because this is going to get weird if you don't.”

The cat looks at him.

“You know what I mean, smartass.” 

The cat grumbles, tilts its head and Jason can feel it sifting through his memories, pausing over this one or that one until it reaches one so far back in Jason's mind he barely remembers it.

A little girl who lived in his building when he was young, so damn young, before _everything_ and this raggedy little stray she'd sneak scraps to in the alley behind their building.

He doesn't remember her name, or even what she looked like, but - 

“Seriously?”

 _You have not earned the honor of knowing my True Name_ , it says, all dignity and gravitas and unnecessary capitalization. _Until then I will answer to Mr. Meowface._

Jason.

“Oh my God,” Jason splutters, feels like he's never going to draw a full breath again he's laughing so hard, _“Oh my God.”_

********

Money's going to be an issue, Jason realizes when they see a diner a little ways up the road from them, and his stomach growls at the smell of cooking food drifting towards them.

Mr. Meowface is hitching a ride, little claws dug in across Jason's shoulders, pinpricks of pain he stopped paying attention to a few miles back.

_Check your pocket._

Suspicious, because Jason had, actually, once he realized he was alive again.

(Had patted himself down and checked his pockets and done a quick inventory of what he had at hand – and then he'd had a moment where his mind went blank, buzzing in his ears because he was _alive_.)

Sighs, and listens to the damn cat, and pulls out a well-used leather billfold. Opens it to find a decent amount of money.

“This isn't stolen, is it?” Jason asks. “Oh, Christ, tell me this isn't some fucked up monkey's paw bullshit.”

Because.

The thing where the thing that looks like a cat _brought him back to life_ , and now Jason's holding a wallet with crisp bills and cards. 

He reads okay, or he read, whatever. More than what the class curriculum insisted on because hey, he liked it. Read as often as he could, pretty much lost his mind when Alfred showed him the library at the manor, and thank God Dick hadn't been there to see it happen.

Remembers all those short stories and movies where things like this, things too good do be true usually were. (That, and he grew up in Gotham, was _Robin_ , and nothing in life is ever free.)

Mr. Meowface doesn't answer, which could mean anything, really.

Jason rolls his eyes, but his curiosity is piqued so he starts looking through the wallet. Finds credit cards for various stores in Gotham, old receipts and movie ticket stubs, lettering too faded to be legible. Random scraps of paper with scribbled writing on them, a doodle here and there. A driver's license with a really terrible picture of him _now._

He stares at it. Takes in the little scratches and scuffs in the lamination like the person in the picture's lead a full life up to now, has pulled the license out time and again for various reasons. 

Gone about his life like a normal person. 

Given in to some cashier's spiel and agreed to sign up for a store credit card to save ten percent on their next purchase or whatever it was, and then never using the damn thing again. Stuffing receipts and movie ticket stubs and little scraps of paper into his wallet and forgetting to throw them away until his wallet became ungainly, wouldn't fit in his back pocket anymore without a struggle.

“How?” 

Little prick of claws as Mr. Meowface flexes them, considering.

_Does it matter?_

Jason rubs his thumb over the picture on the driver's license, _him_.

“No,” he says, barely recognizes his voice because.

 _So many regrets,_ Mr. Meowface says. _And you just keep adding to them._

********

Jason gets pulled into a conversation with a truck driver and one of the diner's waitresses, something small, stupid, that has him smiling, laughing a little because it's.

It's so stupid, really.

Just being able to talk to someone other than Mr. Meowface, about something than what his life's become.

Looks over to where Mr. Meowface has made a little nest of Jason's jacket at one of the empty tables, eyes half-lidded, _pleased_.

“Hey, kid.”

Jason looks back to the truck driver, who tucks his toothpick to one side of his mouth, frown between his eyes. 

“Where you headed?”

Jason.

“Denny's headed up to Gotham,” the waitress says, worn down by life but somehow hasn't let it make her hard, mean. “Chatterbox like him, wouldn't mind someone to argue with on the way there.”

Denny barks out a laugh, leans against the counter. “I don't talk half as much as she makes me out to,” he says, easy, friendly.

“I.” Jason glances at Mr. Meowface, and wonders if he has something to do with this, or if Jason's let himself become jaded. “Yeah, that would be great, actually, I have family in Gotham.”

********

Jason gets Denny to drop him and Mr. Meowface at a rest stop outside Gotham, nerves and doubts eating away at him.

Because.

“You going to be okay, kid?”

Jason looks up at Denny who's half leaning out the truck cab's window to talk to him, looking like he thinks Jason's in some kind of trouble, the way he's been acting the closer to Gotham they got.

“I. Yeah,” Jason says, laughs. “I haven't seen them in a while, kind of need to...”

Jason shrugs, gestures at his head. “I need to get my head on straight, I guess.”

Denny's _looking_ at him, and Jason smiles, _real_ , because Denny's a good guy, has a family waiting on him at home.

“You sure?”

He can see Gotham in the distance, dark shadow spread out with glittering lights like beacons. 

“Yeah,” he says, “I'll be fine.”

********

Something tugs at Jason, part curiosity, part _what the hell_ that has him pulling his wallet out and tracking down the address on his driver's license.

“You wouldn't happen to have the keys to the place, would you?” Jason asks, when he ends up outside a rundown apartment building in a neighborhood that's definitely seen better days.

Mr. Meowface jumps up on the stairs in front of the building, tips his head to look over his shoulder at Jason.

Jason sighs.

“Right, right, check my damn pockets, got it.”

********

For all that Gotham's changed while Jason's been...well, dead, she's still the same under it all. 

Has all these shiny new buildings and billboards and all the other trappings a big city like her tends to favor, but.

She's still the same fucked up city Jason remembers, complete with all the weird shit a guy could ever want and then some.

 _While that was most impressive,_ Mr. Meowface says, voice dry. _You won't prevail against the new enemies you'll be facing by simply punching them in the face._

Jason begs to differ.

“Hey, I put him down all right,” Jason says, subtly shakes out his hand because _holy hell_.

 _Mmm,_ Mr. Meowface says, flicks an ear. _If you say so._

And, okay.

Jason's.

He knows that tone of voice, that careful wording. (The scuff-scrape-shuffle behind him.)

“Goddammit,” he mutters.

Turns to see the weird shadow-guy pulling himself to his feet.

“Really?”

 _Use your powers,_ Mr. Meowface says. 

“I just wanted to go the damn library,” Jason says, because really.

It's not like he can just call Bruce or one of the others up and just ask them for the latest gossip, no. 

He's pretty sure he'd get knocked around a bit trying to explain things before Bruce just knocked him the hell out. Dragged him back to the Batcave and brooded at him from the shadows and everyone else watched while running all kinds of tests, paranoid fuckers. (Not that they don't have reason to be, but. Jason would like to avoid that for the moment if he could.)

He was just walking along, minding his own goddamned business and got jumped by a guy literally made of shadows, just a light-sucking _thing_ that happened to be vaguely humanoid in shape.

Fast, but stupid, because according to Mr. Meowface it's a seething, roiling mass of negative energy that's been zapped with a bit of magic. 

Probably came from some forgotten little corner of Gotham where something bad happened, soaking up every dark thought and emotion around it until.

 _Poof_.

Horrible entity that wants to eat someone's face, and oh, look Jason just happens to be walking by. So damn convenient.

Jason hisses in pain when the shadow-guy manages to tag him, feels cold burn on his forearm from where its fingers grazed him. Jason may have, possibly, lied when he sad he did okay taking it down the first time because it fucking hurts, and he's pretty sure he regrets everything.

_Use your powers._

“I don't know how the hell they work!” Jason yells, jumping back to avoid another swipe aimed at his chest. “You were a little vague on that!”

Because.

Really.

What the hell does the Power of Love even _mean_?

 _On your left,_ Mr. Meowface says, and if Jason survives this, he's going to have _words_ with that damn cat.

********

There's a new Robin.

********

...okay, there's.

 _Another_ new Robin, what the hell, Bruce?

********

Jason never made it to the library.

He barely managed to drag his sorry carcass back to their shabby little apartment Mr. Meowface somehow made happen, nursing cold burns burns and bruised ribs because Mr. Meowface hadn't mentioned the damn shadow-guys could fucking freeze shit. (And maybe trying out a back flip in that situation was a bad idea, who can say.)

“Jesus,” Jason says, watches the shaky camera phone footage of Batman and Robin in action taking down one of Gotham's rogues.

They're really kind of amazing.

Winces when Robin takes a bad hit, and _rolls_ with it, using the training Bruce and Dick, looks like, must have given her so she doesn't seriously get hurt when she lands.

Hears the idiot who stayed put to record them hiss in sympathy. Wonder what Batman's thinking letting a _girl_ be Robin, taking those kinds of hits, like he has any idea what he's talking about.

“Dumbass,” Jason mutters.

_Are you still watching those videos?_

Jason never made it to the library, but there's this thing called the internet these days. People tend to upload videos and other things to share with other people.

Here in Gotham, that usually amounts to Batman and Robin sightings, and Jason laughs himself sick wondering what Tim might have done, been like, if the internet had been anything like it is now back during his creepy stalker years.(God, just the thought of it.)

Jason's been watching all the videos he can find, has been methodically working his way through them. 

He's not surprised, really, that Bruce took on another Robin, because.

Christ, Tim had had a point, all that time ago, when he was just the weird kid who happened to be stalking them, _him_.

That determined look on his face as he told Jason, told him in no uncertain terms that Jason was doing good as Robin, making a difference. That Bruce _needed_ him, because.

Jason.

Doubts creep up on you, no matter who you are. Sneak up on you before you even know they're there, insidious little seeds of doubt and self-recrimination because really, _who do you think you are?_

Putting on a ridiculous costume and going out night after night thinking you're making a difference, that the goddamn Batman really needs you when you fuck up. Get yourself caught by the bad guys, need him to rescue you. (Get Batman hurt, saving your sorry ass.)

And Tim. 

He'd looked at Jason. Gotten up in his face about it because he's always been a certain kind of fearless, and told him Batman needed a Robin, that Jason was so, so needed, didn't he see? (Never the way Tim could.)

And maybe Jason would have wondered at Tim not taking on the role of Robin, but that stupid kid. He never saw how amazing _he_ was. How Bruce looked at him and thought _yes_ , was designing a suit for him in that freaky head of his because _Bruce_.

How everyone loved the hell out of him, this stupid kid who only saw all the ways he wasn't “good enough”, whatever the hell that was supposed to mean, fucking moron.

Jason sighs, pauses the video he has pulled up on the screen, gaze moving to the folded up newspaper on the table, dated a week ago. Big black and white picture of Batman and his newest Robin caught talking to Commissioner Gordon.

“Time sure does fly when you're dead, huh?”

Jason has, best guess, a million tabs open on his laptop. All of videos featuring Gotham's vigilantes or little news articles or blog posts mentioning them. A few crackpot theories about the Robins, where Batman gets them, that kind of thing that makes Jason laugh and bookmark the stupid thing like he has anyone to show it to later. 

Because.

Robin, the one in the video he was just watching, isn't Robin anymore, seems likely to be the new Batgirl – the hair's kind of a giveaway – and.

“What the hell happened?” Jason murmurs, clicking through the browser tabs.

He can see a sort of progression, videos and articles and blog posts over the years.

Little glimpses of what happened while he was gone, dead.

Gotham dealing with crisis after crisis and Bruce and the others facing them down, taking hits from all sides. 

Whatever fucker was trying to tear Gotham down at the time, or the press, or _concerned citizens_ , and still putting themselves out there because what else could they do? Too fucking stubborn, stupid to back down.

Watches Bruce and the girl Robin go to Bruce and this kid who's this little ball of barely restrained anger and violence. Watches the Batgirls over the years, brilliant red to full face mask to distinct blonde, and all he can think is that he wasn't there to see it, any of it. 

Scowls, and starts closing the browser windows one by one, ache in his chest because he wasn't there - 

Stares, when he sees a grainy photos of himself as Robin. Turning away from the camera, but there's no missing the cocky little smirk on his face, Bruce a dark shadow walking off-frame.

Yelps, when Mr. Meowface jumps onto the table, pushes his way in front of Jason to peer at the screen.

_Questionable fashion choice._

Jason scowls, nudges the dumb cat so he can see the screen. 

“Christ, I know, okay? Take it up with Dick.”

And.

 _You know where they are,_ Mr. Meowface says, perfectly reasonable. _I don't see why you insist on this._

Jason looks at the dumb cat, who has to know, pokes through Jason's head whenever he feels like it, nosy bastard. 

Jason wasn't _there_. 

Doesn't know the real stories behind the pictures, the articles, the blog posts. Doesn't know what happened for everything to change the way it seems to have. How the hell Robins just seem to pop up all over the place for Bruce. 

Where the hell the newest Robin came from, although really, it's not that hard to figure out when Jason pieces together the videos and articles about the Wayne family, and oh, God.

They always used to joke, Dick and Jason and Tim, that it was like living a soap opera, sometimes. All the bullshit stories they had to come up with to explain injuries they couldn't hide, or sudden disappearances whether they left Gotham on a case or one of them got grabbed and Bruce had to save them. (Jason stays away from the stories about himself, not ready to know just yet.)

And under it all, there are all these insidious little seeds of doubt and self-recrimination because really, _who does Jason think he is?_

They're doing just fine without him there to fuck things up, aren't they.

********

“Ha, and you said Dick makes questionable fashion choices.”

And, okay.

That's a valid point, really, because Jason remembers the Discowing suit, okay? Can't forget it actually, but this.

Really a lot of pink, little touches of gold and white. Also, all the goddamn bows, why.

 _You realize,_ Mr. Meowface says, oh so amused at Jason's predicament. _That your powers respond to your thoughts?_

That's.

Yeah, Jason got that part, thanks. 

Only took him way too damn long to figure out, a few broken bones along the way and Mr. Meowface being an unhelpful bastard through it all.

Knows that his magical powers are all about the Power of Love (and unnecessary capitalization), which for some reason involves an embarrassment of a suit-thing. And trust him when he says this, but Jason would really rather not be seen in it if possible. 

Like. 

At all.

Would rather put on the old Robin costume, short-pants and everything, instead.

And yet.

“So, what?” Jason asks, suddenly suspicious at the smugness rolling off the stupid cat. “Are you saying I look like this because my subconscious thinks I should?”

Mr. Meowface starts to purr, this weird little thing that feels like laughter in the back of Jason's mind.

********

Jason.

He's not going to lie, but it's such a huge fucking relief when he realizes Tim never put on a mask and cape, never got pulled that far into their world.

Not like he wasn't already pretty deep in when Jason died, but.

Jason doesn't know, just so glad Tim's never going to be the guy who has to deal with the shit the others do - 

And then he finds out what the little shit did instead.

Striking off on his own, becoming a police officer, like that's so much better in a city like Gotham.

“Goddammit, Tim,” Jason mutters, reads article after article about the idiot, rising star in the GCPD.

Making himself as much of a target as the rest of them. Maybe more of one because people are scared of Batman, respect the fact that Nightwing is fucking dangerous and Robin will break your face. Jesus, don't even get started on the Batgirls, they're vicious as hell when they want to be.

Some stupid cop sticking his nose where it doesn't belong? 

Not so much.

 _This is him?_ Mr. Meowface asks, pats the laptop screen with a paw where an image of Tim's front and center like he doesn't know.

“Yeah,” Jason says, swallows hard because.

Tim.

He grew up _hot_ , and Jason is such a shallow bastard, _God_.

Mr. Meowface looks at him, something sly in his expression, which.

He's a cat, that's sort of their default.

_Are you so sure you don't want to see them again? This one in particular?_

Jason glares.

It's taken a hell of a lot of effort to avoid running into the others while he's figuring out his new life. Figuring out how to use his powers, how to deal with the weird little magical fuckers Mr. Meowface points him at, low-class minions for some bigger fish eyeing Gotham.

Mr. Meowface looks back at the screen where Tim's smiling self-consciously, Dick ruffling his hair – and oh, Jason wants that story, how the hell Gordon ever let the two of them become partners - because.

Wow, no.

Horrible, horrible idea.

Wonders if Bruce knew about it beforehand, or if the assholes let him find out the hard way.

“You're a bastard.”

That odd little purr again, Mr. Meowface butting his head against Jason's chest. _And you're a fool,_ he says, but gently.

“Yeah,” Jason says, little twinge of regret to put with all the others. “I know.”

******** 

Turns out, the shadow-guys are like some kind of scouting force.

Mr. Meowface gave him the broad strokes when Jason asked him about them a while back, minions of some greater evil, blah, blah, blah.

Failed to mention that this greater evil is some magical douchebag creating the damn things to see if Gotham's worth looking into. Worth the trouble of dealing with the goddamn Batman and his little flock.

“Are you kidding me?”

Mr. Meowface looks at him.

“Dammit,” Jason mutters, flips the stupid crystal wand around so the gem is pointed at the little cluster of shadow-guys coming towards him. 

_Focus!_

Jason snarls, sets his feet. _Breathes_

 _Good, good,_ Mr. Meowface murmurs. _Remember what I taught you._

Jason closes his eyes, thinks fucking happy thoughts.

_You will die if you don't do this!_

Teeth bared, and Jason reaches deep, past doubt and self-recrimination to - 

_Yes, yes,_ Mr. Meowface, says, pleased as Jason feels the faint tingling of his powers activating, or whatever the hell it is they do.

Feels it building, glimmers and shimmers of soft golden light washing over him, warm, comforting.

\- Tim and that stupid face of his, face split in a grin, hair all over the place because Gotham's windy in the fall. Dick dropping out of one of the trees on the manor ground to tackle them into a pile of leaves, and Tim laughing - 

_Now!_

Jason opens his eyes, lets his smile turn sharp and says that stupid incantation for his offensive powers, thank God, because it's the least embarrassing of them all, and. 

Holy hell, it's a bird made of _fire_.

Like a damn hawk or eagle, Jason doesn't know, one of the things other birds get the fuck away from if they're smart at any rate.

It rises up, wings spread wide, and lets out a piercing cry as it spots the shadow-guys and dives, form shifting to a raging wall of fire.

“Christ.”

Jason lowers the crystal wand and watches as the damn thing vaporizes the shadow-guys and only them, everything else it passes by or _through_ completely untouched, and shifts back into its initial form. 

Swings around mid-air to study Jason, eyes blazing a bright, clear blue. It lets out another one of those cries, almost like a declaration, and vanishes between one breath and the next.

Jason glances over at Mr. Meowface.

“Was that supposed to happen?”

Mr. Meowface gives himself a little shake, pads over to Jason and looks up at him.

 _You have exceeded my expectations,_ Mr. Meowface says, and he sounds almost surprised by that. 

That. 

“You make that sound like a bad thing.”

Mr. Meowface sighs, and oh God, what the hell was _that_?

_That remains to be seen._

Well, shit. That's not ominous at all, is it?

********

“Oh, what the hell is this?”

Jason is.

He has a _lot_ of catching up to do in between fighting with weird shadow-guys and whatever else Mr. Meowface sniffs out and doing his best to go unnoticed by Bruce and the others.

But.

_Isn't this what you humans would consider to be a good thing?_

Jason sighs, closes his laptop and tries, tries not to feel anything like anger. 

Fails, but hell, he tried, right?

“You'd think so,” Jason says, wonders how Tim dealt with the whole damn mess, hopes like hell Dick or one of the others was with him for this no matter what the little shit said. “You'd really think so, wouldn't you.”

Because Jack and Janet Drake are alive, fucking surprise, resurfaced sometime last Spring.

And immediately went after Bruce for taking _advantage_ of Tim, using his grief at losing his beloved parents to get his mitts on Drake Industries. (As if it was ever a serious rival for Wayne Enterprises the way they ran it.)

Went after _Tim_ , when that didn't work.

And now.

Now they're pretending none of that happened, acting like one big happy family for Gotham, twisting Tim up inside the way they had back before everything.

“Fucking hell.”

Mr. Meowface sits up, ears twitching. 

_I sense trouble._

Jason looks at him. Wonders if he's in Jason's head right now, knows what he's thinking about. 

Punching things, mostly. 

People, because he's still a Bat under all the pink, unnecessary capitalization, and inexplicable bows. He doesn't need his new powers to take care of a few lowlifes.

 _Not that kind,_ Mr. Meowface says, disdain in his voice at the turn Jason's thoughts have taken. _More of the “shadow-guys” as you have so charmingly named them._

Jason smiles, slow.

“Good enough,” he says.

********

“For fuck's sake,” Jason hisses, throws himself back, away from Dick and his stupid flippy bullshit. “I'm on your side, you asshole!”

But no, no.

Dick saw Jason and that damn fire bird frying more of those really annoying shadow-guys. Too far away to see enough to know what they were, weren't _human_ or even really alive, so now Jason's the asshole. 

And Dick's a goddamn moron because he's coming after Jason even though he's seen what he can do.

“Christ, why do I even bother?” Jason wonders aloud.

Waits until Dick gets in close and sucker punches him, then strikes out with a a foot and brings him down. Drops just so, knee pressing against his throat, just enough for the idiot to _pay attention_ , Jason could make him hurt if he wanted to.

“Knock it off, dumbass,” Jason says. “And, I don't know, fucking talk to Batman about what the hell is going on here, okay? Bunch of uncommunicative idiots, all of you, Christ.”

Dick has the lenses on his mask down, but even so, Jason knows him, sees the surprise, well-hidden like a good Bat.

“You going to attack me if I let you up?”

Because Dick is the kind of still he goes before he pulls more of that flippy bullshit, _look at me I'm an acrobat!_ thing he does.

“Thought so,” Jason says, winces. “Sorry about this.”

They've all heard things along that line at one point or another, so naturally Dick bucks up against him, tries to get free, but Jason's got size and leverage on him, and really.

“Goddamn, I think you actually got stupider with age,” he says, amazed, and with no time for careful, or delicate, knocks him out.

Shakes his hand out because Dick's always had a hard head. Scowls over to where Mr. Meowface has been watching everything.

“Thanks for the assist, you bastard.”

Mr. Meowface _looks_ at him, down at Dick.

 _You have the ability to put your enemies to sleep._

So fucking casual.

“What?”

Another _look_.

 _Your powers,_ Mr. Meowface says. _Seeing as it's not a purely offensive ability, I see why you fail to recall my telling you about it._

Jason's gaze drops to Dick, little trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. Clenches his hand into a fist, ignores the little spikes of pain because. 

“For fuck's sake.”

********

“Are you kidding me?”

There's.

_Interesting._

“No.”

Mr. Meowface ignores him.

“I said no.”

 _This artifact,_ Mr. Meowface says. _I feel as though I know it._

Jason looks at the newspaper headline, sees _amazing archaeological find of the century!_ and _on display_ and _grand unveiling_ and _masquerade_ and groans.

 _Just think,_ Mr. Meowface adds, sounding so, so amused. _You already have a costume._

“Just so we're clear,” Jason says. “I hate you.”

An amused little hum in Jason's head, Mr. Meowface flicking an ear. 

_I believe you humans would say that the feeling is mutual._

********

Jason's been careful, as in really damn careful, but this is Gotham and plans don't mean shit.

There were the close calls with Bruce, Jason getting away from the bastard by the skin of his teeth. Stupid fucker Dick, and the new Batgirl and yeah, Jason was right, she's the former Robin with the way she hits. That little shit in the Robin suit and Jason's fucking kidneys, and that time with Tim and the Penguin wannabe, but now.

“Ah. Interesting costume.”

And now there's goddamn _Tim_.

Tim looking at him like. Well, like Tim looks at things he's trying to figure out, that terrifying brain of his hard at work.

There's no way he hasn't heard about Jason from the others, not with that disastrous run-in with Dick, and Tim wouldn't have forgotten that time he was a damsel in distress, so.

“Ditto,” Jason says, feels his eyebrows climbing his forehead because really.

“Well,” Tim says, does a slow turn. “It is Gotham.”

And that's one of Bruce's old Batsuits, he can see where someone patched up what looks like a bullet hole. 

Jesus Christ, what is wrong with everyone?

“True,” Jason sighs.

Idly wonders if maybe this is Bruce's weird way of keeping Tim a little safer, knowing how cursed these kind of events are, or if Tim and Dick are just fucking with him again.

“I understand your parents are responsible for making this wonderful exhibit possible?”

Jason hates himself, a little at the way Tim's face closes down just the tiniest bit, but.

“Yes,” Tim says. “They happened upon the site after their plane crashed several years ago.”

When everyone thought they'd died, and Tim was a fucking mess, Jason remembers that. Jesus does he ever.

“Oh?”

“They were stranded,” Tim says, spreads his hands. “What else could they do?”

Jason's eyes narrow, because.

“You believe that?”

And.

Tim _smiles_ , and it's not.

It's not that stupid creepy stalker kid, or the Tim Jason knew when he was Robin. This is. This is colder, sharper, and Jason wants to know what put it there, made Tim have to create a smile like that.

“My father's work,” he says, and gestures towards the main exhibit. “Don't you think it was worth it?”

_Christ._

********

 _Better?_ Mr. Meowface asks, scurrying for shelter.

“Oh, much,” Jason snarls, ducks a thrown chair and vaults over an overturned table. “Fucking fantastic, thanks for asking.”

There's a lot of panicked screaming, which, you know. Gotham's elite have been through shit like this before, it's not like it's anything new for them, but whatever.

Panicked screaming and pushing and shoving and elbows being thrown as they fight to not be the last one out of here, have their faces eaten by the mob of shadow-guys.

Over that, though, there's that damn idiot trying to keep everyone calm, voice pitched just so. Something they all learned from Bruce who, hilariously, learned it from Alfred.

Bruce and the others have to be on their way, but there's that whole magical shell over the damn museum, so.

“Help would be great!”

“Who are you talking to?”

Jason whirls around, comes face to face with tiny Batman.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jason asks, grabs Tim by the arm and jerks him out of the way of a shadow-guy's clawed hands because Tim is so damn stupid. “Fucking seriously.”

Tim stumbles, braces a hand on Jason's shoulder and regains his balance, levels an unimpressed look at him.

“You're the one Nightwing told me about.”

Jason grits his teeth. Because right, right. 

Officer Drake is buddies with Nightwing and the rest of the Bats, and that's such a terrific idea, really. Why not make Tim more of a target than he already is?

“You know what those things are.”

Jason.

“You - “

“Oh my God,” Jason says, pushes Tim behind him when the shadow-guy lunges for them. “Can we not, right now? Just. You know, trust me a little here, and you can do the whole cop interrogation thing later.”

And.

That was probably a mistake, wasn't it. Because this is _Tim_ , and he isn't going to let that go.

“You.” Tim stops, _frowns_ , something dark and unhappy to it that doesn't have anything to do with their current situation. “I don't even know whose side you're on.”

Like it's really that simple, especially here in Gotham.

“I'm on the side that would really like for people to not die tonight,” Jason says, meeting his eyes. “That work for you?”

Tim looks at him for a long moment, Jason pulling and tugging him out of the way when the little bastards try to get to them, and then.

“For now.”

Jason rolls his eyes, feels a grin coming on. 

“Good enough for me,” he says, pulls the damn crystal wand out. “Now stay the hell down, I don't want you to get hurt.”

Because Tim is so damn stupid, and he's a Bat, even if he never put on a mask or cape.

********

“Was this part of your plan?” Tim asks.

Reaches into one of the pouches on his utility belt pulls out some first aide supplies, because of course it would be stocked. Maybe not Bruce levels because really, but this is Tim and he's lived with Gotham's craziness his whole damn life.

“Shut up,” Jason mutters, turns so Tim can deal with the gash on his side, shards of broken pottery and glass and who knows what else in there. 

Mr. Meowface is digging through the rubble of one of the exhibits, intent on something he sensed earlier during the fight.

They're not in the clear, a few stragglers left around the museum looking for _something_ Tim's parents stumbled on after their plane crash, but.

Jason managed to bring that stupid magical shell down, and together they'd gotten everyone else out Tim's parents among them. And Tim's being a stubborn little shit and insisting he couldn't leave yet. Was a damn police officer, and so now here they are.

Taking a few minutes to rest, regroup while Tim tends to his his latest injury.

“No, but really,” Tim says, and that's a tiny, tiny smile hovering at the corner of his mouth. “That was amazing.”

Jason's eyes narrow.

“Impressive, gold star for you.”

Tim flashes a smile at him, deliberately bright and shiny and so damn obnoxious for it.

“You're such a little shit.”

Mr. Meowface pads over, dusty, dirty, who knows what in his fur, and dragging something with him.

 _This,_ he says, drops it in front of Jason. _This is something you can use._

Jason pokes at it, sees intricate engraving that wraps around and around, elegant. Beautiful

“What is it?”

Mr. Meowface doesn't answer, busy grooming himself, but.

“It's a bracer,” Tim says. “My dad said they found a burial site.”

Great.

The damn cat wants Jason to use the armor of a dead warrior whose grave's been defiled by Tim's asshole of a father. 

Nothing could possibly go wrong.

********

Jason can't fucking _breathe_ , feels everything going cold, dark on him, ice spreading out from where the fucking shadow-guy's fingers are digging into his chest, slow inexorable. Flails uselessly because this one.

It's _different_ , smarter, meaner. 

He hears Tim yelling, trying to distract the damn thing, and oh, God, Tim is going to die here.

 _Foolish!_ Mr. Meowface, yells, _roars_ , sound and fury.

Jason turns his head to see the little bastard standing in the middle of the room, all four paws planted. _Use your powers!_

Jason snarls, or thinks he does, glares at the dumb cat.

“Hey!”

Jason's eyes go wide, because that's Tim stepping up behind Mr. Meowface, gun in his hands because he's a cop now, isn't he.

“Jesus Christ,” Jason wheezes, hand catching the shadow-guy's wrist, ignores the pain because Tim is so damn stupid, and Mr. Meowface isn't much better. “You're such assholes.”

Closes his eyes, digs _deep_.

Sinks past doubt and self-recrimination, past everything.

Into a place that feels like.

Not being dead, or what Jason thought of being dead. Not that weird place with the pink and the sparkles, but.

It feels like.

Like the span of time between the inhale and the exhale, the space between the blink of an eye. 

Like _waiting_.

Something brushes his mind, soft like feathers, and gradually he becomes aware of.

Of warmth, heat like the fucking _sun_ growing, building, wrapping around him gently.

Hears a voice that feels old, older than anything Jason could possibly imagine, comprehend.

 _Ah,_ it says. _There you are._

The hell?

A quiet laugh, gentle nudge.

 _You will understand in time,_ it says, amused. _For now, we have important matters to tend to._

“Fucking, _Tim_.”

Goddamn idiot.

 _Just so_ , the voice says, laughter like a building inferno pulling Jason up and up and _up_.

Jason's eyes snap open, lock with the blank spaces where the shadow-guy's should be.

“Hey,” he says, bares his teeth. 

The shadow-guy goes still, unsure what to make of Jason now. Cocks its head at him.

The hand Jason has wrapped around its wrist tightens, _squeezes_.

Warmth, heat like the fucking sun burning the ice out of him, snaking up his arm to the shadow-guy's wrist where it catches fire, wild, unstoppable.

The thing shrieks, fear and terror and pain as it burns, flakes away to ash, and Jason.

“That's new,” he says, shaken, jerking himself free and turning to look for Tim - 

“Jesus, why are you so dumb?” Jason mutters, because there's Tim, Mr. Meowface clinging to his shoulder trying to scale fallen scaffolding from an exhibit, shadow-guys clawing at him.

Tim looks back, eyes meeting Jason's.

“You're so fucking stupid!” Jason yells, at the end of his rope.

Tim's eyes narrow, and the shadow-guys turn their attention on Jason, excellent. 

Sort of.

Because Jason's hurting, feels blood dripping down his back, chest aching, and it's just. Breathing is kind of not fun.

But.

_Tim._

Laughter in the back of Jason's mind, like a building inferno.

“All right then,” Jason says, pulls the crystal wand out. “Let's finish this.”

********

Tim finds him later, somehow ditches Dick and Bruce and the others who are dealing with the cleanup for a few moments and makes his way to where Jason's skulking a few rooftops over. 

Jason's too tired to wonder how he knows, just.

Looks at Tim, cowl pulled down, cape a ragged little thing gamely hanging in there. 

Tim himself is a little battered and bruised, little bit of blood from flying debris and the mad scramble to not die horrible in the first fight, and a goddamn cold burn on his neck in the shape of fingers, but.

He's alive.

“'Let's finish this'? Really?”

Jason sighs. “God, you're such a little shit.”

Tim grins.

“You look horrible,” he says, still grinning. “So I'll let you off the hook about my 'cop interrogation thing' this time.”

Jason gives him a look.

“Thank you,” Tim says, ducks his head. “You saved a lot of lives tonight, including mine.”

Jason _hmms_. 

Glances to the side where Bruce is lurking. Knows Dick and the others are spread out around them, like the good little Bats they are, protecting one of their own.

“You're welcome,” he says, tips his head. “Maybe don't be such a dumbass next time, though? Just a thought.”

Tim looks at him, and.

Right, this is Tim he's talking to. 

“Never mind, Christ.”

********

“What are you looking at, fuzzball?”

There's a weighted silence, Mr. Meowface staring at Jason.

 _I'm no longer sure,_ Mr. Meowface says. _You should not have been able to do that yet._

Jason stares at Mr. Meowface.

“Wait, I'm _supposed_ to be able to do that?”

Because.

Jason had pretty much passed out once he got back to their apartment, shut down for almost a full day. When he'd woken up he'd felt like death, couldn't fucking move, too damn drained.

Hardly practical, if the dumb cat's right, a goddamn liability, actually.

 _Given time, yes_ , Mr. Meowface says. _Special training._

There's a speculative gleam in Mr. Meowface's eyes, his voice.

“That.”

This.

God, this thing just gets better and better, doesn't it.

_Perhaps we should begin that training now._

The glowing shield supported by the bracer Mr. Meowface had found at the museum sputters out, little sparks of light drifting to the ground.

“Or not,” Jason says. “I can barely get this fucking thing to work.”

Mr. Meowface sighs. 

_Humans._

********

Jason's powers, his _magic_ , is actually pretty versatile.

A nice selection of offensive moves leading up to that fucking amazing fire bird, and various little defensive and supportive abilities.

He's finally figured out how to make people go the fuck to sleep, but it's tricky and needs a lot of focus he's probably not going to have at the time, because.

Anyone he's going to want to put to sleep is probably going to be busy trying to keep him from doing that, such as that time with Dick, for example.

He's still working on the exploding fireball one because, hey exploding fireball. (What's not to love?)

“Oh, Jesus, _ow_.”

Mr. Meowface makes a little noise of disgust. 

_You weren't focusing properly._

There are fucking shards of magical ice in Jason's arm along with wood from the packing crates and a nice dusting of _dust_ , and the damn cat is giving him grief.

“I'm ever so sorry,” Jason says.

Tries, like an idiot, to pull one of the ice shards out of his arm and his knees buckle.

“Okay, more ow,” Jason manages, when the world comes back into focus. “I think I need help.”

_You don't say._

********

Tim is.

Tim is staring at Jason, gun pointed at the floor because he knows his gun safety.

“Um.”

Jason bites back a sigh, drops Mr. Meowface and ignores his indignant little meow at the treatment.

“Look, we'll be out of here in a bit, we just needed a safe spot to regroup,” he says, pretends he isn't bleeding all over Tim's furniture, his floor. Smiles. “No worries.”

Mr. Meowface hisses, takes a swipe at Jason's leg, claws snagging in the material, his fucking _leg_.

“Jesus!”

There's a pause, Tim's soft little sigh of exasperation.

“...let me get the first aid kit,” Tim says. 

********

“Christ, he _knows_ ,” Jason says, drops his face into his hands. “What the hell.”

Mr. Meowface peers down at the roof Tim's been staking out for days now. Thermos of coffee and bag of donuts and some godawful fuzzy blanket with the Nightwing symbol printed all over it.

Not.

Not really low profile, but he knows Tim isn't trying for that, is trying to draw Jason out into the open and it's working.

Because.

Jason's been back in Gotham for a while now, _months_ , and he keeps.

He keeps running into his family, Dick actively seeking him out since that mess at the museum, trying to make _friends_. Bumps into Bruce, and Batgirl and that brat Robin who snaps and snarls but doesn't try to maim Jason anymore, which.

Hey, progress?

And Tim.

God.

Jason's always liked the little shit. Creepy little stalker with his little nests all over Gotham. That shy smile, quiet, quiet laugh of his before he opened up around them.

Doesn't know when he fell in love with him, because that's what this has to be, something that's been part of him for so long he can't imagine being without it. 

(A regret, just for Tim. For everything Jason had never said, done.)

 _This is part of my offer, our deal, no?_ Mr. Meowface asks, so damn smug.

“Shut up,” Jason says, but there's no heat to it, just.

Just Tim on a Gotham rooftop and Jason's terrible life choices and a stupid magical cat.

“Christ.”

Jason steps the edge of the roof they're on, scowls at Mr. Meowface. “Stay here, and don't you fucking dare meddle.”

He gets a wide-eyed look of innocence in response that would fool absolutely no one.

“Just. Don't,” Jason mutters. 

Looks down, and makes a leap of faith, because this is _Tim_.

It's not so much a leap of faith as it's finally coming home.

**Author's Note:**

> Prologue chapter is taken from the last section of [Every Night the Same Encore. ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4394246)
> 
> *hands*


End file.
